


Cheap Vogue

by makingitwork



Series: Bughead Prompts [43]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: AU, Actor Jughead, Actors AU, Disney, F/M, Famous Jughead, Fluff, Fluff and Angst with a Happy Ending, Model betty, Sleeping Beauty - Freeform, Wedding, Wedding Planning, actor betty, bughead - Freeform, famous au, famous betty, movies - Freeform, writer jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-26
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-07-17 20:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16103153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makingitwork/pseuds/makingitwork
Summary: "Reactions are even better than I could have hoped for. I'm getting flooded with offers, I've had to unplug the phone just to catch my breath, sweetheart," she beams, winking at Jughead who looks reluctantly amused opposite her. As much as she likes his stoicism (it's great for unexpected questions in interviews), she'd rather like a reaction. "I'm serious, Jug. This is a big deal.""I know it's a big deal," he insists, a smile playing on his lips. "I'm marrying the woman I love.""Pssh, yeah that's okay. But I'm serious: Betty Cooper; model, actress and America's wholesome, home-spun, golden-girl, cornfed sweetheart is marrying Jughead Jones; writer, actor and America's cutest softie whose heart of gold is nestled deep within a surly, mysterious exterior. This is going to be bigger than the royal wedding. England schmengland."





	Cheap Vogue

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy!

When the various media outlets across the country- nay, the world- release the fact that Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones are getting married, everyone is incredibly happy. 

Happy, perhaps, is not strong enough a word. People outright  _rejoice._ Amongst the happiest is Sabrina Spellman, the agent and friend of Jughead Jones. She leans back in her expensive, leather chair and kicks her heel-clad feet up onto her desk. She tosses a shiny red apple up into the air and catches it with a grin that hasn't faded since the headline appeared. "Reactions are even better than I could have hoped for. I'm getting flooded with offers, I've had to unplug the phone just to catch my breath, sweetheart," she beams, winking at Jughead who looks reluctantly amused opposite her. As much as she likes his stoicism (it's great for unexpected questions in interviews), she'd rather like a reaction. "I'm serious, Jug. This is a big deal." 

"I know it's a big deal," he insists, a smile playing on his lips. "I'm marrying the woman I love." 

"Pssh, yeah that's  _okay._ But I'm serious: Betty Cooper; model, actress and America's wholesome, home-spun, golden-girl, cornfed sweetheart is marrying Jughead Jones; writer, actor and America's cutest softie whose heart of gold is nestled deep within a surly, mysterious exterior. This is going to be bigger than the royal wedding. England schmengland." 

Jughead lifts his eyebrows and huffs softly. He swipes a hand through his hair, uncertain whether he's flattered or insulted by the label. Sabrina's good at eliciting that reaction from people. "At least you're excited." 

She winks at him. "Oh I am. Very excited. As you should be. I've got lots of outlets offering to fund the whole thing for exclusive photos, and fashion designers who are dying for a meeting. Have you bought a ring? Tiffany's have been in touch." 

He winces, and wonders how best to frame it so she doesn't flip out. He shuffles in his seat, and she glares at him when she realises that he's about to cause a whole host of problems for her. "Listen, Sabrina," he sighs, raking a hand through his dark locks again. He likes it dark, he's decided. He'll keep it dark for the wedding. Each role has called for a different hair colour, which is why he prefers writing. No one cares what you look like behind the scenes- apart from Vogue, who like to follow him around with a camera as he types around the city. "I think Betty and I want a small wedding. No photos, no press. Just...simple. Us. You know?" He bites his bottom lip and continues floundering under her unimpressed stare. "I mean, she's going to wear her mother's dress and I found these wedding rings at an antique store. The store's on the street where we first met, and I thought, I don't know," he shrugs, rose tinting his cheeks. "She liked it." 

Sabrina doesn't know why she has to deal with clients like Jughead Jones. He's her biggest and brightest, and continually determined to be a problem. She doesn't push it for now though. She'll talk to Cheryl. Betty was always much better at acquiescing. "Whatever you think is best," she answers non-comitally and does feel a little bit bad at the pleased look Jughead gives her. "But the press tour for  _Strangers_ wants to do one final weekend in Italy. I've put you down as a yes, is that good?" 

"Uh, as long as-"

"Yes, yes, Betty's coming too." She sighs. "If you're so desperate to always do press as a couple maybe do me a favour and take some projects together. I have at least seven directors who are dying to snap you up." She gasps with glee as she remembers the very promising call she got from Disney, and she lurches forward, knocking her legs off the desk and tossing her apple to rustle through all the papers. Jughead laughs at her mildly frantic gestures, and watches as she victoriously brandishes the object of her desires. She jams it towards him and he takes it skeptically. He's always been reluctant to take couple projects- afraid that if he and Betty were to ever break up, they'd be painful reminders. Obviously there's the issue of being typecast, but audiences love real chemistry. Sabrina doesn't think he's worrying about splitting up anymore. She's never seen anyone so far gone on love as Betty and Jughead. 

It's simply wonderful for publicity. 

He hums as he looks at it and Sabrina knows exactly what he's seeing. Disney have always been unique in the way they've approached things. The paper is a glossy montage of photos of the sweethearts. Black cursive  _bughead_ scrawled across the photos. The met gala photo dominates the page, and damn do they look good. Sabrina is hard pressed to admit that it was actually Cheryl who won over the designer in the end, but the two of them are gorgeous together. Young, vibrant, sexy and yet sweet. Her silver trail and his tailored black suit jacket blend together as seamlessly as they do. At the top of the page  _sleeping beauty?_ is written down. "It's good, huh?" She guesses, correctly reading his facial expression. He's more distracted by how beautiful his fiancé looks, but Sabrina's still got him by the balls. "You know they're remaking all their films as live-action, and it's sure to be a box office boom and a high profile. I've already drafted a great deal, you should get your lawyer to look over it. You're still using Lodge, right?" 

"Veronica, yeah," he echoes distractedly, eyes still on the way Betty's face seems to shine under the lenses. He snaps to attention once he realises what she's said. "Oh wait, I'm not sure about-"

She's rehearsed this speech, and cuts him off before he can produce another problem. "It'll be a fun project and your first work with Disney. You can start an appeal with the younger generation! And I've already had a briefing. This isn't some 'the lady sleeps all the damn time' movie. This Aurora kicks ass, and you're right there at her side. You can't play broody love interests and villains forever." 

He squawks indignantly like he always does whenever someone drops the v-word with him. "I played the Joker once!"

Sabrina fights her smile. Yes he did. And he was gloriously iconic. If DC want to do another film they know they'll need him. "And you were wonderful, dear. Honestly. Are you saying Betty is perhaps...not pretty enough for Aurora?" 

Jughead's eyes alight with anger, and he shakes his head vehemently and Sabrina knows she's won this argument. "Betty would be an amazing Aurora." He swears loyally. He can picture her; the golden hair, the bright blue eyes. She's got skin like white cream and snow, and she'd put any princess in the world to shame. Fictional or otherwise. It's just...him? As Philip? He faintly remembers the movie from his childhood. He's never really played the hero, and he's not sure how he'll hold up under the weight of it. Horse-riding and battle-scenes will be fun, and he's always up for that. But being chivalrous and brave? It seems...elusive, to him. Oh god- a thought occurs. "What about singing?" He whispers, eyes wide.

"You'll train," Sabrina waves him off dismissively, but rolls her eyes at his look of panic. "Your role doesn't have much, and you can always just lip-sync. You can carry a tune though, Jones. Don't think I haven't heard you." 

He glares at her. "When have you ever heard me?" He challenges, raising his eyebrows. Baiting her. 

She'll have to admit to bugging his car, and she's not going to do that. He'll just feel smugger than he already feels. "Scram." She orders instead, flipping the bird towards his smirk. "I'm trying to manage the storm that's whirled up around you and I can't do that with you here badgering me-"

"-you called me-"

"Out! Go spend some time with your fiancé!" 

Jughead salutes her, grabbing his coat and hat, and shoving the sunglasses clumsily onto his face. "I will." He grins. 

...

...

...

Cheryl Blossom is the agent to Betty Cooper. She's fierce, ferocious and absolutely nothing gets in her way. She never takes no for an answer and she's brilliant at what she does. Her brother Jason is the advertising executive at Warner Brothers, and he sends a lot of clientele her way, that's true. But Cheryl doesn't need the business. She turns people away. People fight for her. She doesn't make friends because she doesn't need friends. But even she has to admit that America's sweetheart has charmed her way into her fiery heart. And that's the only reason why she's here on a sunny Saturday morning, in a dusty attic in the middle of god-knows-where, with that very sweetheart, who's holding the most hideous dress Cheryl has ever seen. 

It's dark ivory, figure hugging with long veils and it looks as if it's crawled up out of the grave. "Oh my god, Betty." Cheryl bemoans loudly, pressing her phone into her forehead. "You cannot wear that. You'll look like a mummified nun." 

Betty's sapphire eyes go wide, and she smoothes the dress down, holding it on the hanger in front of her. "No!" She insists, like a darling. "It just needs a little cleaning up. It was my mom's. It'll look so pretty. I have photos with her in it-"

Betty could wax poetry about her parents, and Cheryl doesn't need to hear it. "Betty. You're gorgeous and you've got the body that everyone wants, but even you cannot pull off that...thing." She shudders just looking at it. "Besides, Vanity Fair and Vogue are both bidding for the opportunity for you to wear their dress. Custom designed, one of kind. Just for you!" Cheryl swoons inwardly. Sometimes she's incredibly jealous of her clients. 

Unfortunately, the golden-haired actress doesn't look as convinced. She's chewing on the inside of her mouth whilst looking fondly at her mother's decrepit old dress. 

Cheryl yanks it away from her and hangs it on one of the mirrors. The swift movement unearths a fine layer of dust and they both sneeze with discomfort. "Ugh, Betty, seriously. Please, you know I'm only trying to do what's best for you. Promise me you'll at least  _look_ at the dresses? They're dying to ship them out to you and I want to give them your address." An address, by the way, of the Penthouse Suite 432 Park Avenue in New York. It's gorgeous, it's divine, and Cheryl's pleased to say that her girlfriend: Toni Topaz, interior decorator to the stars, is the one who designed it. It's gorgeous, with a view to die for and Betty and Jughead share it with their cursed pet Hotdog and their slightly less unbearable cat Marmalade. It's been featured in all the home and living magazines, and even Cheryl had swooned over the candid sight of Betty and Jughead cooking together, reading together, laughing together. She'd fallen in love with them, just like the rest of America. 

When Cheryl had seen the first picture, two years ago now, on the front of an otherwise innocuous-looking magazine at the newsstand with the headline  _Could it be?! Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones?!_ She'd ignored it. They must just have been friends. But when she'd confronted Betty about it during their weekly meeting; a blush that Cheryl had never seen had crept over those smooth cheeks, and she'd ducked her head bashfully. "I...I don't know, Cheryl. He's different from everyone else in Hollywood." 

The red-head hadn't even had the words. Her fabulous brain had been functioning at maximum capacity. Firstly; the publicity. Brilliant and wonderful, and though Betty didn't need a leg up, it certainly didn't hurt. Second; who better? Jughead Jones, as private as he was, was charming and funny and never caught on the wrong side of the tracks. It was a perfect fit for Betty, who'd made her way through tv soaps and modelling into Hollywood blockbusters. Cheryl had squashed her initial urge of  _famefamefame_ and instead softened, and offered the name of a hotel she knew was discrete, so that they could continue to meet and cling onto their privacy as their romance budded. 

She's not afraid to use that as ammunition now. "Don't forget how I helped you in the beginning, Betty. When you and Jughead first got together." 

Betty pouts guiltily, and she nods. "Alright, send them over. It can't hurt to look, right?" And she spreads her pretty pink lips into a smile. 

Cheryl beams victoriously. Tick that one off the checklist. "Now, just one other piece of business before we can get out of this horrible town-"

"It's called Riverdale, Cheryl, and I grew up here," Betty laughs, perching on one of the large boxes. "You know Jug grew up here too? On the Southside, though. Isn't that amazing?" Her voice is love-lost and Cheryl barely resists the urge to roll her eyes. 

"Beautiful," she remarks dryly, before taking them back to the matter at hand. "This will make you happy, okay?" 

Betty clasps her hands gleefully and gives her agent her devout attention. 

Cheryl preens under the gaze and flips her hair over her shoulder. "I pulled a few strings-" she's lying, the New York Public Library had been desperate, "-and I've managed to get your wedding venue in the New York Public Library." 

Betty's jaw drops. She had been prepped and ready to say that she and Jug were happy with a small ceremony in a local Church, but that thought flies out the window. The library in NYC is her favourite place in the entire city, and it seems a dream come true that they could be married there. A Christmas wedding in NYC  _in the library_ with snow and books and Jughead- her heart pounds hard in her chest and she nearly keels over with joy. Tears spring to her eyes and she flies across the attic like a fairy and hugs Cheryl as tightly as she can. "Oh my god," she cries loudly, "this is amazing!" 

Cheryl hugs her back tightly, breathing in the scent of honey and lemon- sweetness and freshness, that Betty always is. "You deserve it," she insists, unusually warm. And Betty does. Cheryl didn't have to take her as a client way back when this bambi-eyed nineteen year had come for a shaky meeting. But there had been something about her. A hard worker yes, but not just that. A beauty, a sense of natural elegance that was rare and just needed to be cultivated. Cheryl Blossom was no teacher, but she had tried to be. For Betty. Through small guest roles to being a main character on a Netflix original series, she had stepped seamlessly from the show-light, into the star-light. And as Betty Cooper had taken to Hollywood, Hollywood had taken to Betty Cooper. She had a face made for the screen, and words meant to be heard. She was a positive role model in an environment saturated with toxicity and Cheryl was always exceedingly proud that it had been  _her_ to bring this golden-girl into the light. 

She can still remember when; twenty years old and fresh into the media, Betty had started dating pro-rugby player Nicholas St Clair. Swept up in the glamour of it all, Cheryl had only just managed to save her from a burn worse than what she suffered. But with Jughead...well, Cheryl remembers different things. She remembers Betty, 22 years old and coming to their meetings with a dazed smile on her face. With one of his books tucked under her arm each week. She'd sit out by the pool as they travelled for press, and bury herself in his words, and whenever her phone lit up, it was as if the entire world faded away. Cheryl hadn't been entirely  _sure_ about Jughead. She knew he was nice, and she knew he had a good image, but as for the depth of his personality- she'd been promised by Sabrina, the only other competent agent in the industry, that he would be good for Betty. 

"And how do you know that?" Cheryl had snapped, examining her nails as she talked into the phone. 

"Because," Sabrina answered easily, "she's good for him." 

...

...

...

Jughead Jones often feels like the luckiest man on earth. Right now that sentiment is especially poignant because he's lying in bed, on sheets more expensive than his entire childhood home, and he's got the most beautiful woman in the world pressed against him. They're both completely naked, and still slightly breathless, and they both look out over Central Park in it's haze of early winter glory. "I love you so much," he breathes, kissing her head and trailing his fingers up and down her spine. 

Betty wonders how she got a life so amazing, and she kisses her fiance's shoulder, bringing her hand to rest over his heart and the ring glitters on her finger. "I love you muchier." 

There's a beat of silence, before they both descend into giggles. She stretches like a cat who's got the cream, and leans back to look up at him. The white light from outside frames his jaw, and the wind whistles high around the clouds where they are perched. He tips his head down to look at her, a few stray locks plastered to his forehead, and she knows hers must look like a beehive, but his pupils are still blown wide. Like he just can't get enough of her. "What?" He teases, kissing her nose, and coiling his arm tight around her. 

"Cheryl got us the library," she whispers, trying to fight from smiling too hard.

He blinks confusedly for a second, before sighing in recognition. "Oh right," he murmurs, smiling warmly. "I guess that means no little church for us?" 

She immediately feels terrible. "Oh Juggie, no! We can still have it in a chapel if you want, I just-"

"Betty," he cuts her off, rolling onto his side so they can face each other. His eyes burn intense shamrock and true. "It may not be my dream, but it is yours, and that's more than good enough for me. Besides, marrying you in a place that houses my books and the books of legends? We'll be around the greatest love stories ever told. How could I ever say no to that?" As she reels from the wild romance of it all, he frowns, a little put out as he realises. "We're going to need a bigger guest list, aren't we?" He surmises. 

She giggles into his chest, and he wraps his arms around her. He'd only wanted fifty people, but that was always so small. She understands that he wants it to be small and private and just them, because everything else in their life is so blown up, but... "It was always going to be a bigger guest list," she teases and he chuckles. "It was nice going back to Riverdale today. We should go back together." 

He hums, a little intrigued. "I have missed Pop's. Maybe we should cancel the honeymoon to New Zealand and go there instead." 

"Don't tempt me." She warns, getting out of bed and taking the blankets with her. She wraps them around herself and instead of flinching at the cold, he wolf whistles. They both pause as the doorbell rings and shoot each other equally confused looks. Betty's phone buzzes on the bedside table and Jughead reaches over to read it. He frowns. It's from Cheryl. 

"She says it's your wedding dresses?" He manages, stumbling out of bed and yanking on his trousers. "Why plural?" They both head towards the door, but the apartment's so big that they start running, shoving each other playfully. "Coming!" Jughead calls, and Betty squeals, ducking into the kitchen. If it's a paparazzi, it's best perhaps for them not to see her clad in only bed sheets. Jughead pulls open the door to reveal a messenger wearing a three piece suit. "Special delivery for Miss Cooper, Mr Jones. She has to sign for them, my apologies." 

Jughead jerks his head out into the corridor, looking both ways, before grinning. "Alright. C'mon, Betts. Don't be shy now. You did nudity in that film last year." 

"It was artistic," Betty grumbles fondly, traipsing out into the corridor. She blushes, but the messenger neatly averts his eyes from her bare shoulders, as she scribbles down her signature. She wonders distantly whether it really needs a signature of if he just wants a free autograph. She doesn't really mind either way. Instead of black clothing bags, the messenger carries inside a large, elegantly designed box, before leaving and closing the door behind him. Betty falls to her knees beside it right there in the hallway, and Jughead laughs, heading into the kitchen to get some food. Hotdog runs in to join him, and he pets his head idly as Betty pulls the lid off. 

There's a slim paper covering, with two cards on top. 

 _Betty Cooper, you're a princess and it would be our honour- Vanity Fair_ says one, whilst the other reads  _Vogue is for the people, and you are one spectacular person- Vogue._ Her cheeks hurt from how hard she's smiling and the little girl inside of her is dying to come out. Jughead ambles back into the hallway, munching on a pop tart. "You're wearing your mom's though, aren't you?" He asks, holding out another treat for the dog. "Why'd Cheryl do all this?" 

"Oh I promised her I'd at least look," Betty hums, before turning to him. "Hey, seeing as I'm not going to wear these- how about I try them on?" 

"Impromptu fashion show?" He nods, "I'll be in the living room." 

He pads into the living room, Hot Dog on his heels, and has to move a disgruntled Marmalade off one of the cushions as he fires up his laptop. He's got three emails from his publisher reminding him that she wants his approval on the cover for his latest book as soon as possible. Midge Klump is not a woman to mess with, and she knows what she wants. And what she wants is to time the release of Jughead Jones' newest book with his wedding. Jughead hurriedly taps out a reply. The book  _How to Prevent a Civil War_ is a fictional crime noir, and the front cover is gorgeous. Designed by someone called Fangs Fogarty, an up and coming illustrator. It shows an entirely black background lit purely with a single lamppost, dull and diffusive, as it ebbs into the title. 

As he replies, Betty lays out the two dresses on the bed. Marmalade brushes up against her leg, and she stares in amazement. Oh god. They're gorgeous. Vanity Fair's is a mermaid dress, ivory and cream with a ruffle running down the side and though it is beautiful, the heavy beading and blitz just isn't....her. Veronica would look sublime in it, though. However, Vogue's dress is...it's a princess dress, with a russet ballgown, snow white and just side this of glittery. It's beautiful, sleeveless with a sweetheart neckline and...could there be anything more fitting? She steps into it, pressing her lips together as below the gown two glass slippers are revealed. 

"Marmy, they really do think I'm a Princess," she whispers, stepping into them. The gown falls down her, until the corset hooks around her waist and the cups settle over her breasts. She takes a look in the mirror and the dress is...she needs this dress. It was designed by  _Vogue._ In what reality is she living in? Wedding dresses designed by Vogue and Vanity Fair? Glass slippers? An apartment that costs millions and millions of pounds with the most handsome, sweetest guy she's ever met in her whole life and a sparkling ring on her finger? She has to fight the shaking urge that she doesn't deserve any of this because Cheryl has taught her better than that. Instead, she walks through the penthouse in her dress, the heels sliding into the soft, thick carpet, and walks into the living room. 

Jughead's jaw drops when she walks in. There, with her hair in a messy bun, makeupless and framed by afternoon light, he can hardly believe she's real. Marmalade hops onto the couch beside him and HotDog whoofs his assent. "Well," he murmurs after a long pause, voice low and gravelly. He clears it nervously. "I guess that's the dress."

Betty smiles, sliding her hands into the satin plushness of the bodice. "Isn't it beautiful? Do you think I should? I mean I  _have_ to. It was designed by Vogue!" It still seems so absurd. 

He shoots her a lopsided grin. "I haven't seen you in your mother's wedding dress," he points out, "I thought you had your heart set on that?" He's fairly certain she'll look dazzling in anything though. He points that out to her aloud and she blushes, shaking her head and repeating. 

"Juggie, it's Vogue." 

He laughs warmly, deleting a few nonsense emails. "I heard you the first time, bumblebee. But just because it's Vogue doesn't mean you have to wear their dress." 

"Oh I know that, Juggie," she scowls, walking across the living room and admiring the swishing sound of the dress. He admires the way the top part hugs her figure. He wants nothing more than to take her back to the bedroom. "I'm not wearing Vanity Fair just because it's Vanity Fair. This is...it's just..." she stares in loving awe down at the white lace. 

"It's Vogue," he finishes for her fondly. She nods. "Well, you look gorgeous. Isn't that all that matters? Even _I'd_ marry you in that." 

She smacks the back of his head but she's smiling, so he figures everything's fine.

...

...

...

Ethel Muggs is Creative Director at Disney and she's good at her job. Not many women get to be where she is, but she's here and she's done it on her own. And now she has the chance to reel in the two fish that her department have been craving for a few years now. Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones. She watches through her glass office as they walk in together- familiar in their oversized caps and large glasses, but as they shake off the crowd and head into the privacy of indoors, they shed their disguises. 

Revealed to her are the lovely black locks that Ethel can't wait to see a warm chestnut brown, and suddenly apparent is the gold hair that she can't wait to see trailing down a pink dress. Ethel doesn't normally let things frazzle her- she's worked with big stars, but these two are love personified and she hopes she doesn't scare them off. They both smile widely when they see her, and Jughead's hand is firm on the small of Betty's back. Ethel beams hugely at the sparkling ring on Betty's finger. "Miss Cooper, Mr Jones," she greets pleasantly, beckoning them in. "Though soon to be Jones and Jones if you're changing your surname?" 

They sit down and Ethel takes a seat back behind her desk. Betty laughs, the dewy warmness to her so enticing in real life. So wonderful she'll make the perfect princess. "I still haven't decided about taking his name. I'm tempted." 

"You definitely should," Jughead grins, "or at least double barrel. It's nice to meet you, Miss Muggs." 

She's a little relieved that they're so nice. Sure she's seen the interviews and she knows about them from reliable sources but it's nice to see that they are very much like the way that everyone views them. Perfect and wholesome. It's a Disney image and she's keen to get it. "Ethel, please. I've talked to Spellman and Blossom individually, is it safe to assume you've been given all the information necessary for these preliminary talks? Such as salary and duration?" 

Betty nods but Jughead seems a little more uncertain. Betty notices, and touches his hand supportively. Ethel gestures towards him, eager to hash out any problems, and he sighs. "I'm supposed to be doing a guest spot in  _Jeff Dahmer the Prime Years._ It coincides with the end of the project, not to mention DC keep talking about a Suicide Squad 2. I'm not sure how big my role in that will be," he confesses.

Ethel accepts it all easily, it's nothing she didn't already know. It's her job to know. And though she's a tiny bit uncertain about her lead male star appearing in a serial killer documentary, she knows it's not a character. That's who Jughead Jones is and what he's interested in. She thinks she'll be able to get away with it. As for the Joker role, well, that's just free advertising. Free for Disney, of course. DC will be paying thousands. "We're eager to work around that," she says happily, "flexible scheduling and negotiation talks with DC to help manage your time. If necessary, all your scenes can be shot at once to free up a little space. We're happy to compromise." 

He relaxes, and Ethel tries not to fist-pump the air, instead turning to Betty. She knows the blonde has projects on the horizon. She's just won her first golden globe after two nominations and she's supposed to be a lead in the Mission Impossible, but the script's still being tweaked, so Betty merely says; "I'm pretty free." 

She's lovely. Ethel nods, and gets out her sketches to help run them along the plot. It's similar to the original, of course, it has to be. Aside from the intense dream sequences that Aurora has- and though Philip's kiss wakes her, it is she who will help him slay the dragon. Philip himself undergoes an intense evolution- from ignorant, love struck prince, to knowledgable king. A coward at first, a hero later. "We're eager to have you both sign on," she says honestly. "I've sent the contracts to your agents and you'll need to go through it. I'm sure you've heard rumours but we can be..." she ponders her next words. "A little strict." 

"Is that true?" Betty whispers, eyes wide and a little amused. "I thought those were just industry rumours." 

"Designed to scare us all away," Jughead chuckles.

Ethel indulges them for a moment, before having to reiterate. "You won't be able to tan, or change your hair in a way that might mess with the shoot. Your figures- well, Betty you'll stay just the same and Jughead we'll provide you with a personal trainer. You need to be broader, is what the character team have decided. No public association with alcohol or smoking, the list does go on. You're obliged to attend all the press events and you'll always need to be smiling. And of course..." she trails off, a little more unwilling but that just gets their attention. Nothing she's said so far has scared them off and she's not surprised. They'll be old hands at this soon. "But in the event your relationship....terminates before the end of filming, you will need to keep that private. You'll have to pretend to be together." She tries to manage it as delicately as she can, because she has an idea of how awful that could be. 

They seem unperturbed. They smile and shrug like it's not an issue. 

Though Ethel's pleased, she wonders what their prenup looks like. 

 

But the truth is, they don't have a prenup. Veronica Lodge, who works as an independent lawyer for both of them, finds this incredibly stupid and completely romantic. She'd drafted one up, eager to protect both her friends, but Betty had scoffed and pushed it away and Jughead had absolutely refused to talk about it. She's soothed a little by the fact that they both have so much money, there would be no point in trying to swindle the other out of theirs. But their apartment...Veronica wonders who that will go to. Jughead would probably want Betty to have it, but Betty wouldn't be able to bear being there, so she'd insist Jughead take it. If he could be persuaded, he'd sell it instantly, presumably for a loss, and whoever lived here next would be haunted by the ghost of something beautiful; now dead. 

But they don't like to talk about that. 

They like to argue with Veronica about her genius ideas. "Come on, Jughead," she snaps, pouring herself some tea and glaring across her office towards her temp secretary. He's a blithering idiot and she just knows he's not going to cream her coffee right. "Don't you like Archie?" 

"I love Archie," Jughead agrees, "but Sweet Pea is my best man." 

"Betty!" Veronica whines, stirring in the milk. Betty's always been more agreeable. 

Except for now apparently, because she just glances up from the contract fleetingly, before returning to it. "Sorry, V. Sweet Pea and Jug go way back." 

She resists the urge to sneer. The Southside. A tiny subsection of a tiny town that no one knows anything about aside from the fact that Jughead Jones and Betty Cooper were born there. She has to admit though, Sweet Pea isn't unattractive. "Fine," she relents, "but you love Archie and you love the Bulldog and the Pussy Cats, don't you?" 

Jughead falters, the pieces clicking together in his head. Yes he loves Archie, he's one of his closest friends, and Valerie's quite nice too. But Josie and Melodie are almost strangers, and even though the Bulldog and the Pussy Cats are one of the biggest bands at the moment, the genre isn't really his taste. "I don't think so," he says carefully, watchful of Veronica's wrath. She's not as scary as Sabrina, but she could give her a run for her money. 

"That's ridiculous," Veronica waves him off, sitting down at the glass table and putting her bronze frame glasses on as she sets down her tea. Her shiny raven hair hangs in a neat swish and she looks so put together he almost can't find a mental rebuttal. "You have the opportunity for one of the biggest bands of the year to play at your wedding and you're passing it off? Please. Spare me. This will be great for publicity. No way would your agent let you turn me down."

Betty looks up from where she's finished going over the contract. Whereas Jughead trusts Veronica to go through it all for him, Betty insists on giving everything a read through just so she understands it herself. "I don't know, Jug," she murmurs with a smile. "I mean think about it! This really could be the biggest wedding of the century."

Veronica knows she's won the argument. Jughead won't go against Betty. Besides, it's also good for Archie and Veronica only wants good things for her boyfriend. The publicity that they're playing at the biggest wedding of the century will boost the record sales. "And you know something else? Archiekins is a personal friend of Reggie Mantle." 

Jughead scrunches up his nose. "The basketball player?" 

"The baseball player?" Betty guesses. 

Veronica glares at them both. "The very famous _hockey_ player. He'd be another boost to your guest list. Your wedding will be the newest event. Bigger than the met gala." 

"No thank you," Jughead manages, his words polite but his tone irritated.

Betty, however, looks as if she's realising something. "Wait, Juggie, doesn't your publisher- Midge, doesn't she date a hockey player?" 

Veronica snaps her fingers. "Moose! Oh my gosh, you'll have another two stars at this wedding. Incredible. I'm going to need a more expensive dress." 

"Wait, so we have to invite Josie, Melody, Reggie, Midge and Moose?" He shakes his head. "That's too many to add to the guest list in one day, Ronnie. Be reasonable." 

"I also added Ethel," Betty chimes, and Jughead groans. Something seems to click in the blonde's head. "Wait, you weren't going to invite your publicist?"

Jughead shrugs, looking awkward. "I didn't really want a big wedding," he manages quietly. 

Veronica scoffs at him, sipping her tea and watching as Betty signs the contract. 

 

But Jughead Jones is being serious, and he tells Sweet Pea over Skype one evening. "I'm serious," he insists, spinning on the swivel chair; the New York lights sparkling like stars down below in the night. "It's getting too big. I'll feel uncomfortable up there in front of everyone." 

Sweet Pea shrugs like he doesn't much care, his fingers working their way through a plate of fries. "I heard Kevin Keller was going to your wedding. Is that true?"

Jughead muses over the name before shrugging. "Never heard of him."

"He writes those healthy sex books- he's that gay guy who's had all that plastic surgery?"

Jughead groans in dismay. "Oh fuck, I think Betty probably met him once and Cheryl decided it was a good idea. I don't even know half the people going to my wedding, Sweet Pea!" His voice has taken on a plaintive whine, and Sweet Pea tuts at him over the screen. 

"You'll be okay, Jones. Cuz at the end of the day, it's just you and her, right?" Sweet Pea coaxes. He likes Betty, and he likes how happy Jughead is with Betty. He won't let his friend screw it up over a tiny little thing called fear.

It's brilliant advice, and it's why he keeps Sweet Pea around. They chat for a while longer, before Sweet Pea heads off and Jughead gets an email from Sabrina about his schedule tomorrow. Another tux fitting with Armani who are now apparently designing his wedding suit. An interview with GQ. A charity advert for polar bears, lunch with the Director of Sleeping Beauty (someone named Dilton Doiley. New in the major business but acclaimed at film festivals), a meeting with Midge to view the example of his book and then hopefully enough time to eat cheap take out with his fiancé. 

There's an asterix after the last point where Sabrina's written  _the bakery wouldn't confirm the time for cake testing. Hopefully Cheryl has bullied them into an answer._

Crap. If they do confirm, no time for Chinese. 

He jumps when Betty's warm hands land on his shoulders and start kneading the many, many knots there. He sinks into her touch and tips his head forward in relaxation as she brings him back to earth. He's starting to worry that this whole thing is getting out of control. Even the bouquets now have to be designer, the cake is being hand decorated by some cake-conisseur in Italy. The guest list is over five hundred people and he learns about who's on it from the tabloids. This lushness and grandiosity just...it isn't him. He knows it's the life he's a part of, and he even lives in a fine example of immaculate wealth, but he wanted this- their love- to be something small and private and intimate. 

"Juggie," Betty says gently, in her wary voice, and he braces for another bout of bad news. She spins him round the in the swivel chair, and the sight of her is always enough to make him smile. She's in one of his shirts, and her hair is kinked and messy and he loves her no matter what. "The Tiffany bid to make our rings is just...we need to take it, Jug.  _Tiffany's."_

He reaches out to touch her arm, kissing her wrist. "Does that mean a new engagement ring too?" He asks softly, and she nods, reaching for her phone to show him a picture. He's not surprised, really. As soon as she'd picked Vogue after her mother's wedding dress, he'd assumed the rest would topple like dominoes.

The new ring is shiny and elegant. It's beautiful and rare. Just like Betty. But then again, so had the one he'd bought her. Antique but timeless. "If it makes you happy," he murmurs adoringly. "But what about-"

She shows off a thin, silver chain around her neck. "I'm going to put the ring on it and wear it always. My first ring. The real one. The romantic one." She leans in to kiss him softly, and he melts into her. 

 

Betty marvels at how well Jughead's taken everything, though she inwardly worries over how big the wedding is getting. It's almost out of control and she's not sure how she would be managing without Veronica, Cheryl and Sabrina working their magic. Everything is beautiful though, and each part of the wedding designed so brilliantly she can't refute it. She feels so lucky to be offered that it seems obscenely wrong to reject any of it. Vanity Fair, upon having their dress sent back, had been granted photography rights. Polly's daughters, Betty's nieces and the bridesmaids are only four and yet their dresses are being hand stitched by Harpers Bazaar and they've already been featured in wedding magazines across the country. 

So sue her, she's a little stressed, she's a little frazzled, and there are four types of paper for the invitation and she just can't decide. Sleeping Beauty has sent over a script and she wants to start memorising lines so she can connect with the character, and the trial extensions had tugged at her hair in ways that made her scalp feel sore. Not to mention how worried she is about the singing. She's been meeting up with Josie but Ethel has already contacted a professional trainer- some legend called Nancy Woods, who's married to a pro-basketball player. Betty's going to have to invite them to the wedding. 

"Will you help me, Jug?" She snaps, finally, after sitting at the dining room table for what feels like an age and just staring at the paper. He's tightly wound; dark marks under his eyes from a long day. They've both had long days. 

He pads over to her though, and plonks himself down opposite tiredly. "Uh, that one," he mutters, picking to Betty's least favourite of the four. He can tell he's made the wrong choice by her face and instead of smiling, he gets annoyed. "What's the point in asking? My opinion doesn't count here anyway." He can feel the irritation spike along his shoulders. He'd wanted food he actually liked at his wedding, but now the caterers are bringing in Michelin star chefs to make lobster and crab and a number of other fancy things he won't know how to eat. Food is the one thing he'd have liked to have a little bit of a say over, and he's not sure he can muster the necessary energy to pick wedding invitations. 

She glares. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're choosing an invitation to send out to bunch of strangers, Betty. I'm not going to know any of those people-"

"Why does that matter?" She challenges, "all that matters if that we have a good time-"

"Which I won't do!" He exclaims, "you know me! You know this is not my idea of a good time! I'd rather have eloped in the middle of nowhere with you than this." He gestures to the variety of centrepieces dotted around the apartment. Hot Dog cringes at the volume of his voice. "But the fact is, you haven't thought about me during this whole thing-"

She stands up harshly, the chair wobbling behind her on its hinges but not tipping over. "Jughead." She stares firmly, tears of exhaustion in her eyes. "Don't." 

Her resoluteness empties him, and he slumps in his chair. He wants to scream and yell but there's no point. He's not angry at Betty, not really, he's just done with the entire situation. "It just feels like a big mess," he admits, "and I'm not even part of it." 

Betty knows what he's going to say just before he says it. 

"Maybe we need a few days apart." 

She closes her eyes against the tidal rush of pain. She wants to say  _no don't go I need you_ and  _i'm sorry you're right_ and  _we can talk this through_ but she can't bring herself to say any of that. Mainly because when she clenches her fists, it's not the ring he bought for her that she can feel on her finger. So instead, she nods, and decides that she'll leave the apartment. 

She goes back to Riverdale. 

 

First class is a luxury but also a necessity at this point in her career. As much as she knows that there will be people who judge for spending more money, if she doesn't, she'll be hoarded with people who wants pictures and autographs and now especially, she isn't in the mood. She curls up in the large, comfy chair and looks out over America and the clouds. She prefers travelling with Jughead. They split headphones and scroll through funny memes on Twitter and have thumb wars. The memory of him sitting beside her is so common that she blinks back tears. Everything has been stressful since the wedding.

She gets back to Riverdale and gets a cab to her old house. The driver looks at her curiously in the mirror a few times, but refrains from asking if she really is who he thinks. The house is large and empty, her parents died long ago and Polly a little way away. The key is still under the flower pot, and it's cold inside.

In the dusty afternoon sunlight, she puts on her mom's wedding dress and wonders why she ever let the glamour change her mind. In the mirror she sees the simplicity and ease and happiness that she always feels with Jughead. She peels it off and goes downstairs into her old childhood bedroom, wearing an old Christmas sweater left in the wardrobe and collapses on the bed. She dials the only number she ever wants to call when things are tough, and like always, he answers her. 

 _"Betty,"_ he sighs,  _"where are you?"_

"I took a plane back to Riverdale," she answers; surprising him. He'd thought she was in a hotel across the street. "I made a mess of this." She splays her hand across the dusty bedsheets and remembers when the pale whiteness was a vivid hot pink, and how many days she spent lying here and worrying about homework. 

 _"No you didn't. I overreacted. The truth is, I'd marry you anywhere wearing anything in front of anyone. As long as I'm marrying you."_ He hates being in this huge apartment without her. They picked it out together, the size hadn't meant a thing, but the view had struck them both speechless and they were signing contracts before the real estate agent could even describe the perks. He misses the way she makes knows where to find all the crockery despite the identical marble squares that decorate the kitchen cupboards, and he misses the way she hogs the blankets. She hasn't been gone 24 hours and he wants her back. Life before Betty Cooper is a chapter in his life that people ask him about a lot in interviews. He describes it as relatively meaningless, but that isn't true. He had his writing and his sister, and he'd met a vast array of good people when he played various love interests. He'd learnt the do's and don't of onscreen kisses and dated a few of his co-stars and a few musicians along the way too. The most significant of which was Katy Keene; America's Queen of Fashion and a few years older from him. Reeling from a bad divorce she'd wanted someone to have a fling with, and he'd craved the company of someone down to earth. Sabrina had loved the publicity of it all, but it had burned bright and fast, parting amicably and dying down. 

Betty's been compared to Katy a few times, people trying to decipher whether Jughead Jones has a  _type_ but they're completely different and Betty has always handled everything with grace. No one really likes to smear her anyway, not after the truth about Nicholas was revealed. Betty says she was lucky to get out when she did, but that had barely soothed Jughead's ire. He'd publicly renounced the former athlete and that had just made America love the idea of bughead more. 

His apology warms her, but she has her own to give. "I lost sight of what really mattered," she admits, "and that's making sure we're both happy." She doesn't want to live in a world where the two of them aren't together. She's never loved anyone like she loves him, and she's certain she never will. 

" _What do you want to do?"_

"We can't cancel, it's just...there's too much. Everything's so arranged and paid for." She winces, pinching the bridge of her nose. If he wants to cancel it though....she will. She's not sure how her anxiety will take it but she knows that he's more important to her than letting people down. It's scary to admit, but she trusts that he won't make her do it. She's right. 

_"I have an idea."_

 

 

On a rainy Thursday night at 3am, in a tacky bar in Las Vegas, a guy with a bad toupee marries them, and a drunk couple who were walking along the pier serve as their witnesses. Betty wears her mother's wedding dress, her hair in a knots and no makeup. Jughead wears an 's' tee, a beanie and shoes caked in mud. They buy rings from a jewellery store they pass- not cheap, but not expensive either. Their first dance is to  _Viva Las Vegas_ and they have their wedding meal at McDonalds. 

Betty keeps the toy she gets in her happy meal. And it is the happiest meal of her life.

Miracle of miracles, they don't get seen by anyone. And the next week, they have the wedding that the world wants to see. 

It's almost enjoyable too, with all the pressure gone. Even through the non-stop flashes and cameras and crowds, Jughead can stand in front of all those people without being afraid, and carefully eat the crab the way he was taught. 

He already has everything he ever wanted, and being with her, is the only thing that matters.

**Author's Note:**

> Comment lovelies! 
> 
> mwah mwah


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